‘I merely wished to tell you, Madeline, something that you do not know.’ ‘And that is----’ ‘Only this--that although you have married an honourable man, as you say, you are nevertheless still my wife.’ CHAPTER XXX.--IN THE TOILS. He spoke quietly enough, but she recoiled as if he had struck her. ‘Your wife!’ she exclaimed. ‘_Your wife_, monsieur!’ A dark look passed over the Frenchman’s face. He bowed profoundly. ‘It is an honour which has been coveted by many, madame,’ he returned, ‘to be the wife of your humble _serviteur_; but I am proud to say it has been reserved for one who is truly worthy of it. Yes, Madeline, I will own it--at one time I thought the position too elevated for you; but when I saw you nobly rising to fame, I said to myself, “After all, I was wrong. She is a splendid creature; she will adorn our world of Art; at the right moment I will reveal the truth, and claim her”--and so, my dear Madeline, I claim you _now!_’ He smiled, he held forth his hand; but Madeline recoiled again. ‘Do not touch me,’ she cried wildly. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘_Eh bien_--I have no wish to touch you, _chère amie_--but if you play the tragedy queen in the park you will gather a crowd about you, and that would not be pleasant for _you._ He spoke with quiet malignity; nevertheless Madeline knew that he spoke truly. She was utterly in his power, and for her own sake she dared not make a scene; whatever she said must be said quietly for fear of attracting attention. She cast a fearful glance around her, then, pale and trembling with disgust and shame, she turned again to the Frenchman. ‘This is another of your falsehoods. Why have you chosen to tell me it to-day?’ ‘_Mon Dieu!_ what a question! I do not choose to tell you a story. I came to claim my wife.’ ‘It is false. I am not your wife.’ ‘No? Then this little writing lies.’ As he spoke he drew forth a paper and waved it carelessly in the air. ‘Ah, my dear Madeline, there was once a time when you would joyfully have received the news I bring you to-day. You did not always scorn the thought of being madame my lady!’ ‘You are right, monsieur,’ answered Madeline. ‘There was once a time when the news which you bring me today would have been welcome to me, but thank God that time has gone, and I am changed!’ ‘Yes,’ he returned quietly, ‘you are changed, as you say; so also am I. At that period of my career to which you allude I was not perfect, and, pardon me for saying so, Madeline, neither were you. I confess with all humility that I told lies, and we both showed temper, but--_nous avons changé tout cela!_ I come to-day to tell you the truth, and to offer you your rightful home.’ Again he moved as if to approach her. Again she shrank away. ‘It is not the truth,’ she returned vehemently; ‘I refuse to believe you! You told me the truth once, but you are lying to me to-day!’ Again his face darkened, but when he spoke his voice was as sweet as it had been before.